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Full text of "The Gleaner"

my 



Out of chaos the 
imagination frames 
a thing of beauty. 



— J. L. Lowes 



THE N ATOM 
FARM SOTO 



HE GLEANER 



ESTABLISHED 
1901 



DELAWARE VALLEY COLLEGE OF SCIENCE AND AGRICULTURE 
DOYLESTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA 18901 



Vol. LXX 



SPRING 1972 



NO. 1V2 



Member Agricultural College Magazines, Associated 




STAFF 



GARY MILLER 
Co-Editor 



GEORGE T. McCARTER 
Co-Editor 



Typing Staff Art Staff 

Tony Piotrowski Gar/ Miller 

Rich Carver 
Chris Klipp 



Business Staff 

Bob Bosenberg 
Gary Miller 
Tom Pyle 



Lay-out 

Gary Miller 
Chris Klipp 

Bob Bosenberg 



Phillippa Bowles 
Tom Kendig 
Chris Klipp 
Gary Miller 



CONTRIBUTORS 



Mr. E. O'Brien, Professor 
Ana Simon 
Bill Ward 
Dillion Williams 



FACULTY ADVISORS 

Dr. George Keys Dr. John Mertz 

Mr. Edward O'Brien, Jr. 



The GLEANER is published twice during the school year by the students of 
Delaware Valley College of Science and Agriculture, Doyleslown, Pennsylvania. 
The GLEANER is a student publication, and the opinions expressed herewith are 
not necessarily those of the GLEANER staff or the Administration. Neither the 
College nor the staff will assume responsibility for plagiarism unknowingly oc- 
curring within. 



One may raise an eyebrow at the appearance of this 
magazine in his mailbox and re-raise it upon reading the 
quote on the inside cover. The GLEANER was manned by 
a one man army this year in an attempt to maintain a stand- 
ard of excellence which has existed in the literary sense for 
the last few years. True, the GLEANER is a 'bi-annual' pub- 
lication published for the benefit of the students and alumni. 
May it be noted that all one man is capable of doing is col- 
lecting the blame for deadlines not reached and jobs not 
completed. 

The staff of the GLEANER this year was negligible. As- 
sistance was non-existent and material was unsatisfactory. 
If the college is to continue to have a literary magazine on 
campus, it will have to offer more student cooperation and 
assistance. In the past two years, the GLEANER has won 
national recognition as a superior magazine in the categories 
in which it was entered. Let's not throw away something that 
with a little help can benefit us all. Those people who are 
interested will please contact Dr. George Keys. 




Assistant Professor Of Animal Science 

MR. GARY BRUBAKER 




Assistant Professor Of Animal Science 

DR. FREDRICK HOFSAESS 



In September of 1970, the Animal Husbandry Department of Dela- 
ware Valley College added two new members to its faculty staff. These 
two men have been instrumental in updating as well as adding courses 
to the department's curriculum. New teaching methods and an aware- 
ness of student feelings have broken the gap between these teachers 
and their students, making for improved student-teacher relationships. 
Collectively, this dynamic duo is referred to as the 'VPI Whiz Kids' 
while many of their individual tests are called the 'Brubaker Bomb' and 
the 'Hofsaess Hatchet'. 

Dr. Gary Lee Brubaker was born in October, 1945 in Du Bois, 
Pennsylvania. He graduated from Delaware Valley College in May of 
1967 and received his Ph.D. in Animal Physiology at Virginia Poly- 
technic Institute in June of 1970. In between the time that he spends at 
his many committee meetings on campus, Dr. Brubaker finds time to 
remodel his recently acquired home and tinker with his cars and an- 
tiques. Dr. Brubaker is married to the former Donna Mowrey of Rey- 
noldsville, Pennsylvania. The Brubakers presently live in Gardenville, 
and have two young daughters, Jill and Jackie. 

Dr. Fredrick Roger Hofsaess was born in the month of October, 
1945, in Mountainside, N.J. He graduated from Delaware Valley Col- 
lege in May of 1967 and was awarded a grant by the NDEA to pursue 
his Ph.D. In June of 1970, Dr. Hofsaess was awarded his Ph.D. in 
Animal Physiology from Virginia Polytechnic Institute. Although active 
in many faculty committee meetings, Dr. Hofsaess saves time to enjoy 
target practicing with hand guns and tinkering with his vintage model 
pick-up truck and scale model ships. Dr. Hofsaess is married to the 
former Elizabeth Ann Haldimann, also of Mountainside, N. J., who 
graduated from Berkeley School in East Orange, New Jersey. 

The Hofsaess family, which is expecting a new arrival in the near 
future, lives in the Goldman Hall Apartments. Dr. and Mrs. Hofsaess 
have one daughter, Edith Ann, 19 months old. 

It gives the editorial staff of the GLEANER great pleasure to dedi- 
cate this magazine to two members of the faculty who are undoubtedly 
going to make great strides in their future at DVC. 



A TIME FOR 
CONTEMPLATION 



Thoughts of a Moment 

— Cris Klipp, '72 

A time, a place 

A smile, a face 

Blue-green eyes 

Satin lace. 

Long blond hair, 
A certain air 
of love and warmth, 
It's always there. 

Soft voice sounds 
of joys abound 
Speaking love 
To all above. 

She's tall and slight 
From left to right. 
A simple prayer 
for her at night. 



Hmmmm 

— G. Miller, '72 

How soft, and sterile 

we kiss. 

Almost as if to avoid 

the fact, 

that one night 

we shared the same bed. 



The Willow 

— Dillon Williams, 72 

The green pasture waved in the evening breeze, 

The stream gurgled as it ran to please 

My tired feet. And as I sat and contemplated sorrow, 

A gentle mist began to cover up the morrow. 

Out of this mist, one sod, grave tree stood 

With mystic form, in which I could 

See a hundred years go by. Each passed 

Revealing words of wisdom cast 

Upon a weary traveler's mind, 

He wishing that he had the time 

To sit and think. But too long a road 

To travel, and too heavy his load. 

Now swaying only by my breath, 

The willow beckoned me to come and rest. 

To see her weep was too great a temptation, 

Her grief would be my grief in contemplation. 

The weeping willow stands in a state of solitude 

And bids me come and share her pensive mood. 



CQ> 



&& 



Solitude 

— G. Miller, '72 

I lie here, 

sleepless as the stars. 

My thoughts wander 

and streak across the sky. 

I hear footsteps 

and hopefully, 

I open my eyes, 

only to be greeted 

by the bleak walls 

and the empty space beside me. 

Dressing, 

I think of our times 

together, when we 

touched each other's 

mind and body 

in splendor and innocence. 

Walking, 

I try to forget 

the bad times; 

the harsh words 

and the quick tempers. 

Memories 

of a thousand laughs 

and tears scurry 

across my mind as 

I trod back 

to my humble dwelling. 

Finally, I surrender 
to fatigue and solitude, 
and topple to the 
familiar tear-dampened 
chill of my pillow. 



OBSERVANCE 

— Cris Klipp, '72 

Never walk so fast 

you can't smell the flowers. 
Don't pass by the statues, 

the white ivory towers. 

Open your eyes 

broaden your senses. 
Look around corners 

over high fences. 

There is lots of world 

so much yet to see. 
To feel and to smell 

by you and by me. 

Many you'll find, say 

there's time for all this. 
But a lot of these folks 

these beauties will miss. 

God made this world 

for all of mankind. 
With wonders and sights 

for all men to find. 

So be ever observant, 

hear every sound. 
Use all your senses 

and true "life" you've found. 



An Autumn Spell 

— Dillon Williams, 72 

Autumn descends upon the orchard fields, 

Her cape of gray billowing across the hills. 

Forests green stand as her statured escorts, 

Then silently she takes me by the arm 

And harvests all my summer thoughts 

Reaping them like seasoned joys, 

Binding them like shieves of wheat. 

Then slowly, chill by chill, 

She casts her autumn spell 

Until my mind and being are lost with 

Her in pleasant solitude. 

Wandering the hills of scarlet-gold, 

Her palette spilled on every mountain side; 

We journeyed far into the woods 

Where mid-day sun is only shade. 

I seemed to float — suspended in her 

Burning sorrow. 

I fell into unnatural sleep, and when 

I awoke — 

Time was yesterday's tomorrow. 



10- 



— Ana Simon, '75 



stand in a field of crowd 
AloneT" - 
Take my hand. 



: 



^+4 — », 




— Cris Klipp, '72 

The snow did cloak that western town 
Falling quickly — soft as down 
Over trees and fields and crops 
Roads, people — chimney tops. 



QUESTION 

— G. Miller, '72 

Time, 

must you be so torturous? 

Must you dig your 

heels and laugh 

as I writhe beneath 

your taunting face? 

Love, 

must you be so strong? 
Must you kindle the fire 
so rapidly as to burn 
the passfon deeper? 

Pride, 

must you be so valid? 
Must you come between 
love and passion as 
to forbid the full 
expression of either? 

Yes. 



Pzociantatlon 



— GARY MILLER 



MEN MAY WRITE 
MANY LINES OF WORDS, 
IN WITNESS OF 
WOODLAND GREEN. 

BUT NO MAN CAN 
SKETCH FROM READING 
LINES — AT BEST, 
A WRITTEN SCENE. 




BUT ALAS, GOD WAS 

AN ARTIST, 
AND I AM BUT A POET. 



-13 



Autumn... A Time of Life 

— Cris Klipp, '72 

Youth, I have — 
Something which they lack 
The elders begrieve this point 
And often show their jealousy. 

They themselves were young 
And enjoyed their lives 
As I do now. Why then 
their criticisms? 

My life, now in its spring 
Is blossoming and full of life. 
While they in their Autumn 
Show age and regret my youth. 



Death 

What to do, 
Where to go, 
Whom to ask, 
We run to and fro 
in a hopeless world. 

People's faces 

Never changing. 

Each his own 

Face complaining 

with endless taunts and jeers 

Where to hide, 
Whom to tell 
We each seek out 
Our secret hell. 

Martyrs all, 
We run and hide. 
Never to face 
the ruthless tide 
of inevitable death. 



G. Miller, '72 



-15 




,400^' 






Deep Purple 

— Dillon Williams, 72 

Deep purple is the color of my mood 

Reflected by the evening's purple crown. 

The violets spring to life again 

While autumn crocus bow their heads. 

The pond has changed from green to brown 

And the leaves from spring to fall. 

The squirrel buries his winter treasure 

As the blue jay watches from his throne, 

Wrapped in his royal cloak. 

The frost has put an end to spring; 

The days now short and drear. 

I climb upon my boat of fallen leaves 

And sail passed summer's end. 

I close my eyes to elude the dark blue 

Skies of night. 

Deep purple is the color of my dreams, 

Visions of the dying season, 

And only in my solitude 

Can I preserve this autumn mood. 



JUST FOR YOU 

— i 

Whenever I think of days gone by 

I think only of the good, 

I dream of You and only sigh . . . and 

Thank You kindly because rightly I should. 

You appear to me to be a person of fun 
One who takes life as it comes and goes, 
So if You ever need a favor tell me and I'll run 
And of my love for You, this is how it shows. 

Many times I look and stare at the trees 

And wonder at the life of the bees, 

But when looking at You, I'm compelled to stare 

Because Your beauty is something very rare. 

What I'm trying to say is that: 
"To be happy, all one has to do 
Is know someone like You!" 



— Philippa Bowies, '75 

Reach up to the sky and you'll find yourself 

in a cloud floating by. 
When all hell erupts, find peace in the heavens above. 
Look to nature to calm your bitter tensions. 
No one soothes us more than mother earth. 
Seek out the silent wind that blows forever tranquil. 
Challenge the sun, 

by climbing the grassy hills. 
Release all frustrations, like the pouring rain 

draining one's soul of hate. 
Remember the beauty that still grows in 

uninhibited forests. 
Let yourself free . . . 

Escape all chains and negative thought 
Find glory in the heavens. 



Autobiography of a Creature 
from Deep Heaven 

— Edward O'Brien, Jr. 

I was the spark 
who lit the face of God 
when he flicked his rod 
to quell the hateful dark. 

I am the sire 
of life when I tease 
my kiss on primal seas. 
I am sunfire. 

My nudge is so fine 
electrons bounce at my push. 
A comet's tail bends to my brush, 
I am starshine. 

I fly so fast 
that none can prove 
I made a move 
until I'm past, 

nor seize my trace 
of falling fire-ice 
as I streak and slice 
through fields of space. 

He pauses, and upon hearing a certain 
important voice, somewhat regretfully says: 

Yes, I'm irked, know why? 
Though I graze Saturn and sear it, 
the remarkable speed of spirit 
is faster than I. 



The Crutch 

— Philippa Bowles, '75 

Escape from life through tears and drink, 
Without success one turns a fink 
Then drugs, and pot, and acid too. 
We look no more, upon the day ... to rise afresh 
With earth's rest. 
On and on life endures 

While we try to find some cures 

So we go with all the hell, which we did make to 
Turn our faces from the Truth. 



22 




m 



The Dove 

— Dillon Williams, 72 

Our dove is a small white bird 

With her own blood on her wing. 

Some think that protest keeps her living 

But she is slowly dying. 

The hawk seems swift and stronger 

His beak a razor sharp. 

With knife like claws and bayonet beak 

He rips our dove apart. 

How can such a pure small dove 

Triumph over such a fowl? 

Is her strength in protest marches violent? 

Does it lie in angry growls? 

Her strength goes not to Washington 

To cast a glowing ember. 

Too many scream "Peace", "Love" 

But how to live in peace, they can't remember. 

We must find peace within ourselves 

If we are to heal the dove. 

Then we can spread real peace to others 

By the means of peace — our love. 



LOVE and UNDERSTANDING 

— Bill Ward 

Life starts with love as a man and a woman 

Bring into the world a new born bud, 

You receive your first bump 

By a smack on the rump, 

Only to let you know of the score 

That on the way are many more. 

You are sent off to a so-called home of happiness and bliss. 

Only to find it full of misery and fists, 

You are then sent off to school so you won't be called a fool. 

Now the time has come for you to break away 
to be treated like a tree .... tossed and swayed, 
So just remember, your parents may have been right: 
Because there's two parts .... day and night! 



■25- 




Like Daisies Do 



— Dillon Williams, 72 



If I were to say you are a charm 

Brighter than a piece of gold — 

If I were to say you are a gem 

Worth more than milk white pearls — 

If I were to say you have a smile 

That makes the roses blush — 

Would you say I am looking through a beveled mirror, distorting all 

my views? 
Would you say a speck of dust has blurred my vision? 
1 cannot help but compliment the petals of a rose so rich a hue 

when wet with dew. 
The moon must always seek the sun. 
If I were to say you are warmer than the sunshine, and you see that 

sparkle in my eye, 
Say nothing that would change blue skies to gray — 
But smile, like daisies do in May. 



26 



— Cris Klipp, '72 

I have a little kitty, 
Freddy he is called. 
He's a real nice little pussy 
Even though he's bald. 

I have a little hampster 
And his name is Fred. 
Yesterday he didn't move. 
Do you think he's dead? 

I have a parakeet. 
Michael is his name. 
Since he flew into the wall 
He hasn't been the same. 

I have a little fish, 
Boy, he's really great. 
Wait, little fish, 
The cat just ate. 

I have a new pet now, 
He is a big reptile. 
Yesterday he shed his skin 
Now he'll rest a while. 

I have a dog, his name is Mush. 
And I groom him with a brush. 
I make him go and fetch the stick 
Then he gives me a big lick. 



Goals of Life 



A day began, 

a little man, 
A walk he took, 
A babbling brook 
The man did pass 
Looking for his 

loving lass. 

To tell of dreams 

of crystal streams, 
of love of life 

of fear of strife. 
For dreams he found 
had made his life 
with joy abound. 



— Cris Klipp, '72 



— Ana Simon, '75 

The pinecones have fallen, 
but yet their scent remains. 
The gnarled branch imparts 
A beauty-magic, exquisite, 
that defies the rational mind. 
Inexplicable but real. 



28- 



For A Stone-lined Well 

— Dillon Williams, 72 

There's a place I know not far from here 

If you think you'd like to walk. 

It's a woods by the edge of a farmer's field, not too many people 

know. 
From the outside it looks just like any woods, with the trees grown 

tall and thin; 
From the inside it seems to be tucked away from the rest, 
You can't really tell till you're in. 
There's an old stone wall, what's left of a house that has been gone 

for many a year. 
And the brambles and brush around the wall don't show its worth 

too clear. 
The ash and walnut creak in the wind 

Their branches serve as a roof for the spirits that still linger there 
Though no boiling cauldron, no soothe. 
Not far from the house is a stone-lined well whose sides are carved 

with moss 
Over which the vines of honeysuckle grow 
These remnants not measured in cost. 
To some who come, this place is barren 
A rockpile worthless as sand. 
To me it's an artifact from the past, 
The art of a mason's skilled hand. 









Grow old slowly, dear house. 
That you may remember me 
Long after I remember you. 




£~~ 



Meditation 



Love the one 
To you who's near, 
Make her smile, 
Love her dear. 

Give her reason 
To believe, 
That her side 
You'll never leave. 

For her heart 
Is yours alone, 
And her life 
It is your own. 

So, take the time 
And make her see, 
Your love will last 
Eternally. 



— Tom Kendig, '72